


Don't Let Go

by Canarii



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood, Gen, POV Female Character, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:18:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canarii/pseuds/Canarii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his rebellion failed, both of Balon's living children were taken from him to be warded at Winterfell. A kraken grows tall far from the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Go

Asha Greyjoy learned to hate her little brother for many things, but none so much as for his love for their captors. Theon may have been brought to the Starks as a sullen, lost child; but Asha was near twelve, half a woman grown and two halves again as fierce as one ought be. While Theon grew closer to the Starks’ eldest pup every day, Asha returned Lord Eddard’s stiff, noble hospitality with silence, and Lady Catelyn’s with scorn and more mute denial. She mocked their bastard for his birth, and when that squalling little daughter had tugged at her skirt and demanded she play dolls with her, Asha had twisted Sansa Stark’s ear until she ran crying to her septa.

_I am a Greyjoy, a Kraken._ She told herself each night, _this is not my place._ She and her brother had been prisoners in the wolf’s den less than half a year before the latest of their litter arrived. Some kind of morbid curiosity had led her to the door of Lady Catelyn’s chambers that night. Led by the sounds of pain and labour, part of her enjoyed hearing the woman scream. _This is the wife of the man who killed my brothers,_ Asha had thought, a cold, little girl’s thought. _I hope she and the whelp die._ Sansa’s septa had found her outside,

“There”, the woman had said, “That is the sounds of a woman’s battle, the fight of bringing life, not taking it, take that to heart, girl, and quit your games.”

_My Games,_ she thought, an uncle of hers had said the same thing to her once, she did not remember which. She had been play fighting Roderick in her father’s hall, a whisp of bones and determination called a girl. He had four years age on her, two hands height and over a stone weight, and she’d still ended on his back, pinning him to the floor as her knobby arms locked around his throat. He’d choked and laughed and yielded, and her father’s dry rasping chuckle had cut through his brother’s criticism,

“See”, he had said, when Roderick finally pried her off, “What a kraken grasps, it does not let go”, and Lord Harwell had also jested,

“Who can say what sex those beasts may be truly, all maw and long arms.”

Asha pretended to heed the Septa’s advice, and excused herself, fleeing down Winterfell’s cold stone steps from the destiny her own birth seemed determined to thrust upon her. By morning, Lady Catelyn had been weary, but healthy abed, and the child did not die either. It was a girl .

Asha watched the family swarm and celebrate and gush over the new babe from afar, with distain. _She’s lucky she already has an elder brother, or else she might not find herself so eagerly welcomed,_ Asha had though dryly, looking upon the small, pink thing with her Stark grey eyes already open and curious. Out of that same cautious courtesy she always held with her Ironborn captive, the Lady of Winterfell had asked if Asha wanted to hold the babe. Asha did not, but she was learning to pick her battles with Lady Catelyn. She let the bundle be slipped into her skinny arms, and had to be shown how to properly hold it. _Grasping a sword is far easier than a child._

“Her name is Arya!”, Little Sansa had gasped excitedly, blue eyes aglow in a face flush with excitement, four years of age if she was a day.

“There are worse names”, Asha shrugged, handing the child back to the septa as soon as she was able.

“We’re going to play come into my castle!”, The small girl had continued on. “Best wait until she’s bigger, sweetling…”, her mother had replied, and by then Asha was taking her leave. It was hard to hate Ned Stark, as she watched him kiss all his children to bed each night, even Robb and the Bastard, who were both nine,and complained they were near men grown, too old for kisses.

Half a moon after the girl’s birth, Asha found herself wandering into the smallest Stark’s nursery one sleepless night. She was attended by her wetnurse at night, but the babe was a surprisingly sound sleeper, and the nurse enjoyed a nightly mulled wine down in the kitchens. _Nothing like Theon, always wailing and needy._ “There’s a hole in that boy a mother’s love will not fill”, an uncle had said regretfully, “In time perhaps, a good reaving will do the job.”

But Ned Stark’s latest pup was more prone to whimper than wail, and her chamber was dark and empty when Asha padded in on cold bare feet. She looked down on the child, swaddled save for arms. _I could kill her,_ Asha thought, _smother the tiny wolf bitch, and probably little Sansa too_ , before anyone could catch her. _Two sisters for two brothers, blood for blood._ But even that would not tip the balance, daughters were not sons. Girls mattered little when there were boys. _My father loved me no less, even with three brothers, and now only squalling Theon is left to him, and I am the elder regardless._ She finally settled with giving the babe a forceful prod in the stomach, but as she pulled back five tiny fingers made a vise around her prodding one. Asha tugged back again but the infant girl’s hand went with her hand, cool grey eyes open and inquisitive. _Quite a grip on her_ , the older girl mused, finally prying herself from the babe’s grasp. And with that she banished any thoughts of smothering.


End file.
